Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
by darthsydious
Summary: prompt fill for o0katiekins0o Sherlock and Molly accidentally get drugged. Molly is starving, you guys. Mycroft has had it, and that poor agent has to buy so many snacks.


"You're certain you'll be alright, Mr. Holmes?" the security detail Mycroft had sent seemed wary to leave Sherlock and Molly alone.

"I am perfectly fine, for heaven's sake," Sherlock rolled his eyes. Slowly, one eyelid began to close. Molly Hooper lay flat on her face in the living room of 221b, snickering. "It's a contact high, I'm sure it will wear off."

"Contact high my eye-" Molly said, muffled. "Poof! That factory was burrrrrrrrrning."

"Shoo!" Sherlock pushed the agent out. "And tell my brother we are perfectly fine. The affects will wear off soon enough." The agent hesitated, Sherlock smiled pleasantly, seeing him to the door. "Have a lovely day!" the door shut, and the agent appeared more befuddled than ever. His earpiece buzzed.

"Sir?"

"How are they?"

"High, sir." He could almost hear the eye-roll coming from the other end of the head-set.

"Keep an eye on the place for the night."

"Yes sir."

Sherlock plodded back to the living room and sat down. Something was off.

Aside from Molly curled up on his living room rug singing about daisies, of course.

He began to retrace his thoughts.

Which were alarmingly…slow.

Well. How was he to know they would be found out and captured? Was it his fault that they decided to burn the factory down, along with the evidence (that happened to be well over thirty kilos worth of drugs)? Thank goodness he texted Greg before they left for the factory or they would have very well died. They had managed to hobble across the factory floor, still tied together, out of the way of the flames, but the problem was the cannabis stored there. When Greg finally found them they were calmly sitting in the only unscorched corner of the factory, waiting for help. Molly had promptly demanded for the squad car to bring them to a chip shop.

"Molly!" Sherlock realized.  
"What?" she rolled over, kicking her shoes off, one landed on the cow skull on the wall, the other somewhere behind the couch.

"We never got chips!"

"We should order some…I'm _starving_!" she whined.

"Hm. Can't have that," he stood, blinking carefully. Everything was sort of, slow and hazy. He blinked his blurry eyes. "Good grief." He sat back down. "Oh. I have it." He dropped to his knees, crawling on all fours across the living room. Knocking on the door, he waited. In a moment, the agent Mycroft had left on surveillance slowly opened the door.

"Sir?"

"We want chips," Sherlock said, smiling pleasantly.

"Chips, sir?"

"Yes. She's starving,"

"Staaaaaarving," Molly keened, dragging herself up onto John's chair, flopping over dramatically.

"I'll see what I can do." The door shut again and Sherlock sat with his back to the wall, sighing.

In thirty minutes the door opened again and the agent appeared, carrying a brown paper sack. Sherlock gave a short whistle.

"Oi, down here," The agent handed him the bag and left without a word. Molly rolled off her chair, scooting on her bum across the kitchen floor.

"There's hardly enough for two here!"

"You can have mine," Sherlock offered, blinking owlishly at her.

"We'll share them, and make food after," Molly suggested, ripping the bag open.

"I'm not hungry,"

"Liar."

 **Two Hours Later**

"My brother is coming over," Sherlock huffed, slouching in the kitchen chair. Molly shrugged, turning the pancakes on the griddle.

"Course he is, he loves you and wants to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine, you're here. Why wouldn't I be fine?"  
"Yes, but we were in a burning building."

"We're perfectly _fine_ , look at us! I think- I think that the drugs have worn off." Somewhere amidst his sleepy thoughts he thought he heard John laugh.

"Think so?" Molly asked.

"Hm."

"So you're saying if we weren't high right now, you wouldn't have snogged me ten minutes ago?"

"Certainly I would!" He looked miffed. She covered her mouth, giggling. Suddenly she was positively rolling, tears streamed down her cheeks. He couldn't help but join in, he loved to see Molly so happy. "What's funny?" he asked, gasping for breath.

"You!" she pointed at him with the spatula. "You think you'd have kissed me if you weren't so bloody mashed?"

"I'll kiss you right now!" he blustered, red in the face.

"That doesn't count, you're still high!"

"Well why not?" he hollered back.

"Don't shout!"

"I'm not shouting!" they both stepped back, blinking. "Why are we fighting?"

"I forget."  
"Me too."

"That's a lie," Molly laughed, turning back to the stove. "You never forget anything."

"Wish I could forget every time I was mean to you."

"Aw, that's nice," Molly handed him a stack of pancakes and he took the syrup from the cupboard, dousing the stack as he talked:

"I probably wouldn't have kissed you, but if you want me to I will tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Really, really." He cut off an enormous bite, cramming it in his mouth.

"You'll be sticky," She kissed the corner of his mouth where the syrup had smeared. Heaving a sigh, she sat down in the chair beside him, putting her feet on his lap as she cut into her own food. He put an arm over her legs, patting her calves.

"You've got nice legs, Molly, very nice legs."

"So do you," she nodded, waving her fork. "You've got the tightest shirts, speaking of."

"We weren't," he cut off another bite.

"Pass the pudding cups,"

"Hm," he broke off one for himself, handing her the rest. "Fruity bites?"

"Please."

Mycroft came in just as they were dumping cereal over their pancakes.

"What. Are you. Doing?"

"Mycroft!" they both cheered, arms open and mouths full.

"Mycroft your agent bought us chips!" Molly pointed to the ripped, empty bag in the corner of the kitchen.

"And half the stock of the corner store," Sherlock said.

"Good God, you stink of weed." Mycroft's nose wrinkled.

"Sherlock!" Molly gasped. "We stink!"

"We should have a bath." He got to his feet, swaying slightly, tugging her down the hall. "We'll save time!" Mycroft was content to leave them be to their own devices, then thought against it, deciding his little brother may end up drowning them. Instead, he found them both, still fully clothed, in the shower. Molly was trying to wash her hair, Sherlock was precariously balancing on one foot, trying to unlace his shoes.

"Sherlock…" he looked up to see Mycroft standing in the doorway, looking weary of the whole scene. "Don't…drown her."

"Mind your own business!" and Sherlock yanked the shower curtain shut. Mycroft only sighed, shutting the door behind him.

 **Seven AM**

 _At least tell me you're both ok. JohnW_

 _Text me, or I'm coming over there. JohnW._

 _SHERLOCK. WHERE IS MOLLY. JohnW._

 _Don't mind him, Sherlock. Mycroft texted us a little while ago. MaryW._

Sherlock fumbled for his phone after it beeped for the fourth time. Squinting at the bright light, he groaned, feeling the ache in his back.

 _We are fine. Molly is_

He lifted his head suddenly, where was Molly? There was a pleasant weight on his chest, so he lifted the blanket and there was Molly, fast asleep, curled up and drooling.

 _Asleep. Don't come over here. SherlockH._

He was about to go back to sleep when his phone beeped again.

 _Why not? MaryW._

 _We might be naked. SherlockH._

He lifted the blanket further and gave a small sigh of relief.

 _We're in our underwear. I think we tried to take a shower. SherlockH._

 _Dare I suggest we bring a change of clothes for her? MaryW._

"Will you quit texting and come back to bed?" Molly huffed, voice heavy with sleep.

 _In a few hours. Tell John we are very busy. SherlockH._

 _With WHAT? MaryW._

 _Conducting an experiment: kissing Molly sober vs. high. So far sober is better. SherlockH._


End file.
